


Your shelter, your armour

by TempestGael



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Demon Aziraphale, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Muteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-10-01 22:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20422994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TempestGael/pseuds/TempestGael
Summary: Golgotha, c.33ADCrowley and Zira bear witness to the crucifixion. An unpleasant situation further complicated when the past rears its ugly head.----A dabble in the 'Ineffable Lovebirds' reverse AU by ProfessorFlowers, which has completely stolen my heart. I hope I can be forgiven for dipping a toe into this sandbox!





	Your shelter, your armour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProfessorFlowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFlowers/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Ineffable Lovebirds reverse AU](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/513632) by ProfessorFlowers. 

> This angsty, fluffy, hurt/comfort-y idea wouldn't leave me alone, so I hope it's a gift that will be accepted with the love with which it's given! If you want it taken down just let me know and I'll remove it. =)
> 
> Title from 'Rescue' by Lauren Daigle

**Golgotha, c.33AD**

Uneasiness rippled through the assembled crowd. Crowley felt it, absorbed it, and let it go. It was not a pleasant event to which to bear witness. Planned or not, it was never easy to watch good people suffer - and this particular good person had suffered more in the last several days than many others.

It was nearing the end, now, though. By mid-afternoon, his suffering would be at an end.

Beside Crowley, close enough that their arms pressed together, Zira was shifting uncomfortably. Eve had fluttered from Crowley's shoulder to the top of Zira's head and was grooming the tufts of white curls visible beneath the fallen angel's cowl, in an effort to soothe his rising anxiety. Zira didn't seem to notice. "Are you all right?" Crowley asked, sotto voce. "Why don't you and Eve return to the inn? I'll be there directly when things here are over."

Zira was already shaking his head, his hands in a loose knot at his abdomen but ramping up toward anxious wringing. Crowley noted it with concern; Zira never enjoyed seeing humans suffer (even though it was technically meant to be in his job description), but he usually managed to rein in any outward signs of his discomfort.

_I should be here,_ Zira signed. _I should watch. He's a good person. He deserves to see friendly faces._

Crowley loved humans in general, though he often couldn't pretend to understand them. He wasn't sure how a few friendly faces would prove a balm after what this human had endured, and was yet to endure, but Zira had his reasons - even if Crowley sometimes didn't quite understand him, either. He decided to leave it alone for now; if Zira decided he'd witnessed all he could bear, he would return to the city.

The Romans had laid Yeshua out on the cross, pinning him down at hands and feet though the man made no effort to fight. His faith in God was strong, though Crowley knew he was afraid. Crucifixion was a damnably horrendous fate. Two thieves had already met that fate today; Yeshua would be the last. The main event, as it were.

Representing the Host, Crowley owed it to this man to watch him meet the fate God had laid out for him. It was cruel, it was terrible, but it was part of the Plan, and Crowley needed to have faith that it was right.

The soldiers lashed Yeshua by wrists and ankles to the cross. They lined up their first strike, heavy bolt at his feet. Zira took two quick steps forward, very suddenly, and Crowley barely had time to think before he reached out and caught his robe in one hand. "What are you doing?" he hissed. 

The young man cried out in pain. Zira's eyes were wild, small distressed wheezes escaping him with every breath. _We have to stop this._

"We can't, Zira. It's -"

_Don't say it's part of The Plan! He does not deserve this. How can this be right?_ Zira wrenched his arm back, trying to dislodge Crowley's grip. Eve fluttered around Zira's head, chirping her disapproval before settling back on his shoulder. 

"It _is_ part of Her plan!" Crowley snapped. "Whether we like it or not."

Zira pinned him with a desperate, pleading gaze. _You could stop this. Show yourself to the soldiers -_

Crowley scoffed, disbelieving. "Are you tempting me right now? How _dare_ you-"

_Show yourself to them and they will see he was right - they will see he was doing good that he should not be punished for this -_ Zira's signs blurred together, movements large in his effort to override Crowley's protest. The wet, stomach-churning sounds of the soldiers' work blended with the pained cries of the man being punished.

"Zira," Crowley forced control into his voice, "this is an order from far above me; if I interfere it will bring the Host down on us - both of us. I'm not risking that." I'm not risking **you**.

_You would let an innocent person suffer and die to protect yourself!_ Zira signed in a rapid burst. _You hide behind Her plan - you pretend you are different but you are just like all the others. Selfish. Unfeeling!_ His face was red, but his eyes were dry. Crowley felt his jaw slacken, but couldn't muster any response. _And I am supposed to be the demon. Angels like you are worse than anything Hell has to offer - at least Hell is honest about what they are - _

Crowley didn't register his hands moving until they were clamped around Zira's wrists and squeezing hard. Silencing him, violating his space in a way Crowley had never dared, or even considered. Crowley dimly felt guilty at the unfair tactic, but the heartbreak of Zira throwing those accusations at him was stronger. Behind Zira the soldiers were raising the cross. Soon it would just be a matter of time before it was over. "If you haven't already," he said, forcing the words from his arid throat, "you should stop before you say something you regret." Zira tugged uselessly at his wrists, staring defiantly up at Crowley. "You listen to me. That man is innocent. And he is also part of God's plan. His fate is to die here today. I will bear witness. He deserves that, as you said, even if he didn't deserve any of this. That is all I am permitted to do. If I interfere, there will be nowhere we can go, nothing I can do to protect us. And there is no telling what effect my interference will have on humanity. When you were an angel you would have done the same." A low blow. "You have done the same since then." He released Zira's wrists and tried not to notice the red marks where his fingers had pressed in. 

Zira edged around him, resolve crumbling as his gaze darted to the crucified figure nearby. All at once, he took on his swan form and fled, winging erratically over the barren landscape.

Crowley watched him go, the first pangs of regret overpowering his hurt feelings. "Follow him, Eve," he requested quietly. "Make sure he's safe." He knew (hoped) that eventually Zira would return, but also knew that right now his presence wouldn't be welcome. Zira needed time and space to work out whatever he needed to, and when he was ready (and when Crowley was ready) they could set things to rights. At least with Eve at his side Zira was guaranteed to not be alone.

In the meantime, Crowley maintained his vigil, even as the gathered crowd and eventually the Roman soldiers wandered away. He stayed until a few loyal to this man returned and bore him safely to his burial place.

****

Zira didn't return until the next evening. Upon returning to the inn Crowley had retreated to their small room with a generous supply of watered-down wine, intending to nurse his wounded pride and guilty conscience until he felt in a better place to seek out Zira. Eve had popped in early in the morning; Zira was safe and not too far away, but Crowley knew that if the fallen angel didn't want to be found Crowley would be on a wild goose chase. "Wild swan chase," he murmured to the still, stifling air, not entirely drunk enough to be amused by his own wit.

The ambient noise of other patrons in the inn, of people in the streets, was a pleasant enough backdrop to Crowley's introspection. As afternoon bled into evening and shadows lengthened on the walls, a flutter of wings drew Crowley's attention to the room's single small window. Eve burst through the window and made himself scarce on a makeshift perch in one corner. A familiar swan awkwardly followed him; it maneuvered through the small space to land on the floor and, head tucked low, waddled toward the door. Anticipating its unceremonious exit, Crowley supposed. He watched with as dispassionate an expression as he could muster as the rather ruffled animal transmogrified into Zira's equally ruffled man-shape.

Zira's shoulders were rounded, curved in; his small wings folded protectively close around his face. His misery was writ clear in every line of his body as he tried to make himself as small as possible. He tentatively signed, _Is it all right for me to be here?_

On the rare occasion they had anything approaching a row it was always difficult to remain upset with Zira. Crowley was unnerved sometimes by his own softness when it came to him; more so when thoughts took him places where he imagined how Heaven or Hell could harness that weakness to harm one of them. Zira was, historically at least, altogether as forgiving of Crowley, so at the very least their weakness was a mutual one. That overriding affection for his friend softened Crowley a little more; he kept his own signs slow and deliberate as he responded aloud, "It's always okay for you to come to me, swan."

The nickname didn't seem to placate Zira's misery. His posture didn't change; his wings hid most of his face, so all Crowley could see in the dim light of the dying evening sun were Zira's shadowed eyes and the bridge of his nose, leaving him to imagine the expression on his typically solemn face. Zira wrung his hands as if unsure what to say or do next; what move might be considered unwelcome. Crowley wasn't entirely certain of that himself; he still felt the sting of Zira's words the previous day; remembered the unpleasant swoop of his insides at the fallen angel's lack of trust in him. Crowley didn't like to admit his hurts aloud, but part of him wanted to shout, to shake Zira by the shoulders and demand of him why, after four millennia, there was still something in him that expected Crowley's betrayal.

When no further communication from Zira was forthcoming, Crowley sighed and placed the half-empty jug on the floor. "Are you hurt?" He looked to Zira's wrists specifically; from here he couldn't tell if the marks from his fingers had faded.

A shake of the head. The wings, if anything, seemed to fold around Zira's head closer than before; his fingers, wringing and twisting each other, crept up nearer his chin. _I'm sorry_.

Zira kept his signs small, close to his chest. _I'm sorry. I didn't mean...I never wanted to hurt you._ He mostly kept his eyes down as Crowley watched him sign, but every so often his gaze darted up and skittered briefly over Crowley's face before falling away again. 

"You did hurt me," Crowley acknowledged. Zira's eyes darted up to meet his again; Crowley saw the unmistakable gleam of tears in the low light before Zira looked away again, emitting a low wheeze of distress. "It hurt me that you would ever think for a moment that what I must do to avoid the wrath of God, of the Archangels, is ever done with any intent to hurt you."

Zira wrung his hands so tightly Crowley could see the whitening of his knuckles. _I don't know why I acted that way,_ he finally signed, still shaky and small.

Crowley leaned forward. "I think you do," he pressed, not unkindly. "We've seen a lot over the millennia, haven't we, dove?" A nod. Zira wasn't looking at him, but he was listening. "All of the atrocities we've seen, you've never reacted that way before. What was different this time?"

Zira's breathing was quick, shallow. _It wasn't fair,_ he signed at length.

"I know it wasn't."

_He was innocent._

Crowley's heart clenched. He had a terrible sense of why Zira had reacted the way he had, but the fallen angel needed to exorcise this himself. "He was," Crowley agreed. "But we've seen innocent people punished before. Why was he different?"

_I don't know._

"Zira...tell me, please. Let me help."

_I was angry._ Zira's shallow breathing took on a ragged edge; Crowley suspected the tears standing in his eyes were carving silent paths down his cheeks. 

"Why did this make you so angry?" 

_He was trying to serve God! He was trying to do good work. They didn't listen. The Romans they think their ways are right and he was wrong and because he didn't follow their rules because he challenged, he was different they - they - _ The coherency of the signing, erratic and difficult to follow as it was, broke down entirely until Zira gave up and pressed his hands against his face, beneath the protective shield of his wings. 

Crowley was across the room in a flash. He reached out and pulled Zira close, folding both arms around him tightly. He could hear the raspy breaths, the pained wheezes that bordered on something more. The tension in Zira's frame didn't diminish and he didn't lower his hands - a clear refusal or inability to make himself heard and understood.

The deceptively powerful young man murdered yesterday was, to the Romans, dangerous. He outright challenged their authority; he preached against the very ways of life that made the Romans successful. He had neither confirmed nor denied, when asked, that he was the son of God. His rebellion was conscious though not, that Crowley had seen, ill-intended. But he was punished as severely as the most hardened criminals - a punishment supported by his own people. Zira's rebellion, such as it was, was unintended. He had been punished severely, by other angels, for an error that was foolish, but not driven by any desire to challenge God or Her orders. Then in short order he'd been punished by God Herself. 

No one had intervened for Zira, and Crowley hadn't intervened for Yeshua.

"I'm sorry, swan," Crowley breathed. He guided them both back to the stuffed mattress and awkwardly lowered them onto it. Zira didn't look up, just followed where Crowley led him until they were propped against the wall together, Zira propped up between Crowley's sprawled legs. Crowley smoothed both hands up and down Zira's back, his exposed arm, trying to dispel the tension there; murmuring quietly until Zira moved his hands from his face. 

It was nearly completely dark in their room. Crowley miracled the few candles into life, flames throwing enough light for Crowley to see when Zira began signing again. The marks from his fingers were still there, Crowley noticed. _It wasn't fair._

Crowley didn't know if Zira was talking about himself or Yeshua, but he couldn't disagree either way. "I know."

_I was thinking about that day, Before. Thought if you were there, maybe...and I thought maybe if we could stop that happening to him it might make it better. Somehow._

Crowley gave Zira a squeeze. "I -"

_But I know you couldn't_, Zira went on. _If his death was part of Her plan, and you interfered._ He shivered. _I don't want you to be hurt. I don't want you to Fall. I hurt you, tried to drive you to it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry, sorry -_

Crowley covered Zira's hands with one of his, a gentler echo of what he'd done yesterday, an effort to quell the panicked signing. He shushed Zira quietly, lifted his hands to press a gentle kiss to the inside of his wrists, healing the bruises there. "Zira, please look at me." A rapid shake of the head. "Please, angel," he added deliberately, and felt Zira start at the endearment.

It took an age. At last, though, Zira pulled away enough to fold back his small wings. His gaze hovered somewhere around Crowley's chin, face streaked with drying tears and eyes swollen. "There you are," Crowley said gently. He released Zira's hands and raised his chin so he could look him in the eye. "Zira, it did hurt that you seemed to think I would betray you. I promised you long ago that no one would hurt you again, and that includes me."

_I know_, Zira signed quickly, _I was scared and I_

"The fear took over. I know that now. I understand _why_, now. You saw yourself in him. You saw your own desire to serve God, you saw the 'justice' brought down by your own...well, 'people'. Neither of you had someone to stand up for you, to argue on your behalf." Crowley watched the tears well in Zira's eyes, saw his mouth twist to stop himself giving in. "Neither of you had someone to save you from something that you didn't deserve."

Zira's lips opened around a gasped, ragged exhale. Crowley leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. "I'm so sorry, swan. For both of you. I'm sorry."

A quiet, anguished keen, then; Zira tucked his face against Crowley's neck, pushed his hands between Crowley's body and the wall to grab desperate handfuls of robes. Crowley held him in place, on hand buried in his wild curls, the other pressing firmly against his back. He held Zira, murmuring quiet reassurances and apologies, murmuring forgiveness he seemed to crave, until Zira's cries quieted and tapered off to hitched breaths, to deep even breathing and quiet that lulled them to sleep wrapped up in a protective tangle.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my God, there's even a ProfessorFlowers sketch to accompany one of the scenes in here. <3  
https://professorflowers.tumblr.com/image/187330130970


End file.
